The Spiral Path

by Greg Weisman

  Of course, when Murky did return, he didn’t bring the shard—or any good news. He did bring back the compass and chain, which was somewhat comically wrapped around the top of his head, and which Aram snatched back to put around his neck before Murky could get a word out. When Murky did speak—with Drella translating—he apologized for failing them for a good five minutes before they managed to force out of him an actual explanation of their new dilemma. Aram, Makasa, Hackle, and even Drella were all more than willing to jump into the water to help the murloc push the slab aside and retrieve the shard. But Murky explained that the bottom was just too deep. None of them could possibly make it all the way down to the crystal before needing to come back up for air. Instead, Murky suggested they get a very, very long rope. He could then tie one end to the slab and the other end to the boat, and maybe if Makasa and Hackle rowed very, very hard, they could pull the slab aside. Makasa and Hackle both frowned and shook their heads, but neither could offer up a better solution.

  Ultimately, Makasa made the command decision to head for the Speedbarge. Aram protested, but Makasa pointed out that they weren’t going far and that maybe a solution would come to them.

  But as yet, none had. Aram found himself scanning his surroundings for very, very large coils of rope.

  In the meantime, they headed down into the bowels of the Speedbarge, where they found the inn’s saloon, mostly by following the noise made by its boisterous crowd. They were looking for “Daisy,” Rendow’s contact aboard the Speedbarge. All they knew about her was that she was human and worked there.

  Upon crossing the threshold, Makasa had to instantly yank Aram out of the way of a flung pewter tankard, thrown by a tallish (four-and-a-half-foot) goblin at a shortish (two-and-a-half-foot) gnome. The tankard was—inevitably—aimed too high for the little gnome and thus came darn close to clocking Aram on the forehead. But beyond that, the throw also seemed to be the first volley in a full-scale brawl between goblins (and a couple tauren) espousing the strength of the Horde, and gnomes (and a few humans) equally promoting the power of the Alliance.

  Or at least it would have become a brawl. But just then, music began to play. Attention turned immediately toward a young yellowish-green goblin, sadly and sweetly playing a fiddle. Beside the goblin, an attractive pair of bare legs swung back and forth. All eyes followed those legs upward to find them attached to a very comely human woman with long strawberry-blonde hair, who was sitting atop the bar as if waiting for something.

  She didn’t have long to wait. The brawl—or its beginnings—ended abruptly. The gnomes, goblins, tauren, and humans quickly found seats.

  Makasa, Aram, Hackle, and Murky took four chairs at a table near the back of the tavern (while Drella curled up at Aram’s feet). Makasa tried to ask a female gnome with big ears and a big and veiny blue nose whether the woman seated on the bar was Daisy. The gnome ignored Makasa’s question (and existence) as the woman on the bar began to sing. In fact, the entire clientele of the place had gone pin-drop silent as the melancholy fiddle and the woman’s sweet voice told of love and loss during the Cataclysm. Makasa was on the verge of drawing her sword on the blue-nosed gnome to get the information she required, but Aram put his hand on Makasa’s arm and whispered, “Better to wait until the song ends. We’ll likely have more luck then.”

  Makasa nodded begrudgingly, and they all sat back to listen …

  The flood … chang’d ev’rything I knew.

  We sank below the deluge,

  And our great love was through.

  The flood … has wash’d away my past.

  A cataclysm so huge

  That I am sinking fast.

  I held on tight as waters rose high,

  So high I thought ’twould never end.

  I fought for breath as our love did die,

  And felt my spirit break and bend.

  The truth … is water’s thick as blood,

  When there’s no port, no refuge

  To save us from the flood.

  The yellowish goblin boy played on. The room and its occupants were otherwise silent, save for the scattered sounds of sniffling. Aram looked around and saw that the simple song had greatly affected the tavern’s patrons. The blue-nosed gnome wiped away a tear, and she wasn’t the only one so afflicted.

  The singer began again …

  I held on tight as waters rose high,

  So high I thought ’twould never end.

  I fought for breath as our love did die,

  And felt my spirit break and bend.

  The truth … is water’s thick as blood,

  When there’s no port, no refuge

  To save us from … the flood.

  The singing ended. The fiddle played on for a few more measures; then it, too, stopped. There was silence in the barroom. Aram admired the song and the singer but didn’t immediately understand the effect both were having on the crowd. He looked around … at the backs of heads lowered in sorrow, at the profiles of tough humans, tougher goblins, gnomes, and those two tauren, all with tears streaming down their faces, and he realized that these were all survivors of the Cataclysm, that each and every one of them had lost someone when the seawall fell and the Great Sea poured into the Thousand Needles valley, washing away the Shimmering Flats and replacing it with the Shimmering Deep.

  Suddenly, the loss of a shard of crystal seemed of little significance in the grand scheme of things. There were much greater losses in the depths of the Deep.

  The little goblin boy was moving through the crowd slowly, with his fiddle case open. The tavern’s clientele dropped coins into the case with universal generosity. Eventually, the goblin found his way to the five travelers. Makasa held up a gold coin—so that no one but Aram and the goblin could see it. The latter’s eyes went very wide. Makasa said, “I expect some change.”

  He nodded and held up the fiddle case, whispering, “Take it all.”

  “Not here,” she said. “Your mistress. The singer. Is her name Daisy?”

  “It is for a coin of gold.”

  She scowled, and he backed up a step. Aram knew that scowl and its power, and had to cover his mouth with a hand to hide his smile.

  The goblin said, “Yeah, yeah. She’s Daisy.”

  “Arrange a meeting for us. Somewhere private.”

  “You bet.”

  “No. I don’t bet. I don’t gamble. I expect guarantees … What’s your name?”

  “Me?” He asked the question as if no one in the entire history of Azeroth had ever been interested in his name before. “I’m Hotfix.”

  “Well, Hotfix, can you guarantee this private meeting?”

  “Uh huh.” He stood there, his green eyes still staring at the gold piece, until Makasa slipped it back in her pocket. Then he stared at her.

  “Tell Daisy that Rendow sent us.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Now.”

  “Right, right.” And he was gone.

  They watched him rush behind the bar, where he was too short to be visible. The singer, Daisy, was now acting as a smiling barkeep, serving grog to her increasingly rowdy clientele. The catharsis of her song had loosened their spirits and their purses, and they were exchanging coin for liquor at an astounding rate, one with which she seemed to effortlessly keep pace. For a few seconds, she leaned down and to one side, and Aram could picture little Hotfix whispering up to her. She straightened, and without ever losing her smile or ceasing to distribute ale, she scanned the bar until she spotted Makasa. Still smiling, she nodded.

  Makasa nodded back.

  It took a good half hour for the rush on the bar to slow, at which point Daisy made her way around the wooden counter with a bar rag, Hotfix trailing her with a tray. She’d wipe down tables and place empty glasses, mugs, goblets, and tankards on the tray until it was a miracle the little goblin could stand beneath the mountain of pewter and glassware he was carrying. But he staggered along in her wake, until she slowly made her way back to where Makasa, Aram, and the
others were seated. Without stopping, Daisy signaled with her eyes toward a door in a dark corner. “I’ll join you in three minutes,” she whispered, and moved on.

  Makasa leaned toward Hackle. “Stay with the others. Watch the door,” she said. “If anyone other than the woman enters, be there with your club.”

  Hackle nodded, proud to be her second.

  Makasa nodded to Aram, and they both stood. Drella stood, too. Makasa said, “Drella, stay here with Hackle and Murky.”

  Drella said, “I would prefer not to.”

  Makasa didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

  Aram said, “Drella …”

  The dryad said, “I believe your conversation with this Daisy will be much more interesting than anything I might see here. In addition, I think it wise that you take me with you for your protection. The last time I let you out of my sight, events became very complicated. Or have you already forgotten what happened in the Bone Pile?”

  The not uncommon occurrence of Drella’s companions staring at her, flabbergasted, was once again put on display for all to see.

  Makasa gave up. “Fine,” she said. “But listen. Do not speak.”

  Drella waved off the advice. “That would be ridiculous. I am a very good speaker. I have a beautiful voice and a large vocabulary, especially when you take into consideration that it is springtime.”

  “It’s summer,” Makasa murmured under her breath. Still, she made no other objection and led Aram and Drella into the back room.

  Makasa quickly took the measure of the small, bare space. There were no other doors or windows and nowhere for anyone who might covet her gold to hide. Just the one door, which Hackle was watching from the main room, a long table, and six chairs. Makasa and Aram took two of the chairs facing the door, and Drella stood beside them.

  Precisely three minutes after Daisy had given her instruction, she entered with Hotfix. Hackle was right on their heels, club at the ready, asking Makasa, “Goblin all right?”

  Makasa said, “Send your boy away.”

  Daisy said, “Send yours away, and I might consider it.”

  Aram, feeling a little insulted, straightened to his full height. He noticed Hotfix doing the same.

  Makasa said, “This is my brother, Aramar Thorne. I am Makasa Flintwill.”

  Drella, not appreciating being left out, said, “I am Taryndrella, daughter of Cenarius.”

  Hackle shrugged and said, “Hackle is Hackle.”

  From somewhere behind him, Murky’s voice chimed in, too: “Murky lggrm.”

  Daisy smiled and said, “My name is Daisy. This is my very good friend Hotfix. I keep him close. I’m sure you understand.”

  Makasa grumbled, “Fine,” and nodded to Hackle, who departed with Murky, closing the door behind them.

  Daisy took a seat opposite Makasa. (Hotfix climbed into a chair beside his mistress.) The two women stared each other down. Daisy with a smile. Makasa with a scowl. Daisy seemed to smile as easily as Makasa scowled. But there was a similar strength behind each woman’s expression. Aram thought that maybe Makasa had finally met her match. (Not on the field of battle, perhaps, but at this negotiating table—if that was what it was lining up to be.)

  Both women waited. Eventually, Daisy’s smiling eyes glanced in the direction of Makasa’s pocket. Makasa took out the gold piece and put it on the table.

  Hotfix whispered, “She expects change.”

  Daisy put a gentle hand on his head and said, “Well, let’s see what she needs, and then decide how much change she deserves.” She turned to Makasa and asked, “So. You know Rendow?”

  “Yes,” Aram said, feeling the need to prove himself to be more than just Makasa’s boy. “She lent us her boat and asked us to turn it over to you when we got here.”

  “How do I know you didn’t steal it from Rendow?”

  “If we stole it,” Makasa said, “why would we give it to you?”

  Drella said, “Rendow offered us the boat because kaldorei always seek to be of use to a daughter of Cenarius.”

  “That is true,” Daisy said. “And other than taking charge of my friend’s boat, how might this humble flower be of use to Cenarius’s daughter and her friends?”

  Makasa said, “Rendow said you could arrange transport for us to Gadgetzan.”

  “That’s easy enough. A ship leaves every day for Gadgetzan.”

  “There’s one other thing,” Aram said, tentatively. “We lost something in the water. It fell to the bottom. We need to find a way to get it.”

  “Didn’t I see a murloc among your companions? Can’t he swim down and get it?”

  “He tried. But something heavy is on top of it. He couldn’t budge it by himself.”

  Daisy’s amused smile became somehow more pointed as she said, “You dropped something in the water, and then something heavy fell on top of it?”

  Aram didn’t respond right away. Finally, he said, “My father—” He looked at Makasa and corrected himself. “Our father once told me that salvage operations take place in the Deep all the time. People looking for things lost in the Cataclysm. Is that also something easy enough to arrange?”

  “I can make introductions.”

  “Thank you. The sooner the better.”

  “It can happen tonight. I know just the goblin. Is that all, then? The boat, Gadgetzan, and your little salvage mission?”

  “We’ll need two rooms,” Makasa said. “And five hot meals.”

  “Easier still.”

  “No meat, please,” Drella said.

  “No meat for her,” Makasa said. “But—”

  “But the rest of you are carnivores of the first order. I understand.” Daisy slid the gold coin back to Makasa. “I’ll set up a tab. For a friend of Rendow, I trust we can settle up before you leave for Gadgetzan.”

  “Of course,” Makasa said as she again pocketed the coin.

  Hotfix showed them upstairs to adjoining rooms: one for Makasa and Drella, the other for Aram, Hackle, and Murky. Each room had two small beds and two pallets of straw on the floor. A few minutes later, the little goblin returned with his mistress, carrying five trays of food and drink between them.

  Aram had his sketchbook out, finishing up the view of the Speedbarge from his window, which didn’t seem to do it—in all its bizarre magnificence—justice. He longed to be once again upon the back of the wyvern One-Eye, soaring above the floating island so he could sketch it from there. But he did his best to capture the living, breathing lungs of the place, its hustle and bustle, its cornucopia of races, and the many, many boats that surrounded it. When Daisy placed his tray down, her eyes lingered upon the sketch.

  She said, “That’s quite good, um … I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your—”

  “Aramar,” he volunteered loudly, and then blushing and quieter: “Or, um, Aram’s fine.”

  “Well, Aram, you have ability.”

  He flipped back to the sketch of Elmarine to show Daisy a sample of his portraiture skills and said, “I’d love to sketch you, if you have time.” Then, glancing over at Hotfix, who was placing a tray of raw fish before Murky, Aram added quickly, “Both of you.”

  She said, “It’s not the first time someone’s offered to draw my likeness. But it might be the first time I’ve felt instantly comfortable saying yes. The time suits me now, if you don’t mind sketching and eating.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Daisy sat down on the other bed and beckoned Hotfix to climb up next to her. Aram sketched them in between spoonfuls of hot stew, strips of bread, and sips of hot spiced apple cider.

  And in between the sketching and the eating, Aram exercised his boundless curiosity to find out more about the Speedbarge. Daisy told him that the reason the floating island was currently a jam-packed blur of activity was because Fizzle and Pozzik’s Speedbarge was hosting the Annual Fizzle and Pozzik’s Speedbarge Boat Race, and everyone was rushing around like crazy in order to be ready for it in five days’ time. (The strange boats
Aram had seen earlier were called “speedboats,” which, it turned out, were boats with mechanical engines, designed to move very fast across the surface of the water. Aram hadn’t known such things existed.) The competition had brought literally hundreds of gamblers, racers, and members of MEGA to the barge.

  “What’s mega?” Aram asked.

  “M. E. G. A. MEGA. The Mechanical Engineers’ Guild of Azeroth.”

  “Oh,” Aram said, nodding. And then: “Um, what are mechanical engineers?”

  “They build things like, well, like speedboats. Fizzle and Pozzik are both members, and MEGA sponsors this race and races like it all across Azeroth. Gives their engineers a chance to show what they can do.”

  “You mean to show off,” Makasa said from the doorway to the adjacent room.

  Daisy smiled. “Is there a difference?”

  “What a waste of time,” Makasa grumbled.

  “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  “Who? Him?” Makasa pointed at Hotfix.

  “No. The goblin who’s going to help you salvage your lost treasure. He’s sponsoring a boat in the race. And, trust me, he doesn’t think he’s wasting his time.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Gazlowe.”

  Night had fallen, but all across the Speedbarge, torches—housed inside what looked like giant, mirrored half clamshells—shone with an intensity that nearly approximated daylight. Aram thought them brilliant, both literally and figuratively. The clamshells could be turned to aim the focused mirrored light wherever the shell-turner chose.

  Daisy and Hotfix led Makasa, Aram, Drella, Murky, and Hackle across a gangway to one of the outer docks. A lone goblin male stood between two clamshells that aimed their reflected illumination out onto the shimmering water. He was staring down at an odd-looking pocket watch in his hand—in much the same way Greydon Thorne used to stare down at his enchanted compass, which is to say with a vague look of disappointment.

  Daisy smiled and said, “Gazlowe, there are some people I’d like you to meet.”